


Backstage

by rsadelle



Category: Metallica
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-05
Updated: 2001-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very young Kirk goes to see Metallica play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backstage

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nette for beta reading and title help.

Someone plunks a beer down in front of me. I smile my thanks and gulp from the bottle. I sit back in my chair to watch the band come out on stage. I've got their demo in with a jumble of tapes somewhere, but I keep hearing that they're even better live.

The drummer's too fast, but the other three just play faster to keep up with him. The lead guitar makes me cringe; his tuning's off. Their bassist is something else. All I can see is a cloud of fast-moving red hair. He sure can play.

Their singer is fucking awesome. He's angry, and it comes out in his music, but when he stops to talk between songs, he just plays with the audience. He's surprisingly funny. I don't expect this kind of joyful humor from someone who writes such seductively dark lyrics.

When they leave the stage after their last set, I find my way to the door to the back of the club. I smile at the guy guarding it, and he lets me through. I murmur my thanks and go in search of the band.

They're drinking and clowning around in one of the back rooms. The drummer threatens the singer with a pair of sticks, and the singer swoops in to take them away. He holds them out of reach and laughs as the drummer jumps up to try and get them back. The other two laugh at him.

"Give it up, Lars," the bassist advises.

The drummer crosses his arms over his chest and pouts. He notices me before the other three do. "Hey," he says. "You come to see us play?"

I nod. "Yeah."

He grins at me. "Cool. What'd you think?"

"You rocked."

He positively beams. "See?" he says to the rest of the band. "He liked it."

The singer laughs. "You were still playing too fast, dick."

The drummer makes a face. "I play fine."

The bassist rolls his eyes as he lights up a joint. "You play fucking fast." He holds the joint out to me. "Want a hit?"

I shake my head. "No, thanks."

He shrugs. "'Kay." He sucks on the joint and flops back against the couch. "I'm Cliff."

I smile at him. "Kirk."

Cliff nods at each of the other three. "The angry fucker is Dave. Singer's James. The dumbass who can't keep time is Lars."

"Hey."

"You play or you just listen?" Dave asks.

"I play."

"What?" he asks.

"Guitar."

"You any good?"

I just shrug.

He smiles nastily as he picks up his guitar. "Wanna show us what you can do?" He holds the guitar out to me.

"Come on, Dave. Don't torture him," James says.

"Leave him the fuck alone," Lars adds.

I take the guitar. "I don't mind." I sit down on one of the chairs and run my hands over his guitar. James silently hands me a pick. I smile up at him and run it over the strings. I turn one of the pegs and play the chord again. Now it's in tune. Dave growls a little, but I ignore him. I need something to show off a bit. Something I know well. I smile slightly. "Foxy Lady." It's perfect.

James picks up his own guitar and joins me. The guitars harmonize perfectly. He sings the few words in a low growl. When we play the last strains of the song, he grins at me. I smile back.

"So you can play," Dave snarls as he snatches his guitar back.

"You're really fucking good," James says.

"Thanks." I hand the pick back to him.

Our fingers brush as he takes it back, and he smiles slightly. "You want a beer?"

I nod. "Sure."

He reaches into a cooler and pulls one out. He pops the cap off and hands it to me. Our fingers brush again.

"Thanks."

He smiles at me, and I see the happy man who comes out on stage.

Dave drops his guitar into a case and stalks out.

James' smile falls. "Fucking moody bastard," he mutters.

Cliff drops the end of his joint in an ashtray. "Let him be a dick somewhere else."

"He shouldn't be a dick at all," James growls.

"Dave's always a dick," Lars shrugs. "Don't fucking stress about it."

"He's gotta stop. It's not good for the band."

"Yeah, yeah." Lars waves off James' concerns.

I sip the beer slowly.

"I'm fucking serious," James says with a glare. He waves at me. "Kirk just came to hear us play. If he's going to be like that with everyone who gets backstage, it's really going to fuck things up."

"Chill, man."

James glares at Lars. "I won't chill. This is fucking serious shit."

"Don't worry," Cliff tells him evenly. "I'll talk to him."

That mollifies James a little. "Thanks," he says grudgingly. He glances at me. "Sorry Dave's such a dick."

I shrug. "It's okay." I take a sip of the beer. I can feel James' eyes on my neck. "I'm used to it."

Cliff gathers his long limbs together and pulls himself off the couch. "Come on, Lars," he says, slinging his arm around Lars' shoulders. "I'm hungry, and you've got the money." He grins at James. "We'll be back for the stuff later."

James grins back at him. "Later, man." When Cliff and Lars are gone, he sprawls out on the couch and watches me sip from my beer bottle. "You're really fucking good," he says seriously.

"Thanks." I pick at the label on the beer bottle. "I love to play."

"You just do it for fun, or do you have a band?"

"I've got a band. Exodus."

"Remember this day, in which you came out of Egypt, out of the house of bondage; for by the strength of hand the Lord brought you out from this place," he quotes to me.

I identify the quote. "Chapter thirteen, verse three." I smile at his surprise. "Twelve years of Catholic school."

"Strict Christian Scientist parents," he tells me.

"Rough."

"Yeah."

I drink down the end of the beer and set the bottle down on the ground with a thump.

He tips his head back against the back of the couch and just looks at me. "The couch is more comfortable than that chair."

I know an invitation when I hear one. I slide off my chair and go to sit next to him. I lean against the arm he drapes across the back of the couch.

"So you like Hendrix?"

"Yeah. My brother brought home 'Purple Haze' when I was six." I smile over at him. "It just blew me away."

He puts his hand on my knee. "My brother's band used to rehearse in our garage. I used to sneak out there to play around."

I turn my head toward him and rest my cheek on his arm. "Big brothers are good for something."

He slides his hand up my leg. "Yeah. That and buying beer," he laughs. He sobers. "And giving people a place to live."

"You live with him?"

He shakes his head and strokes my thigh. "Not anymore. I did. Me and my sister. We had to get out of the house."

I nod. "I got out of my house too. Too much time being mommy's little boy."

He rubs his thumb in circles on my leg. "I didn't get to do that for long."

I lean my head on his shoulder. "Why not?"

He's silent for so long that I think maybe I asked the wrong question. "My mom died." If my head weren't on his shoulder, I wouldn't have heard him.

"I'm sorry." I put my hand on his thigh.

He shrugs uncomfortably. "Shit happens." He tips my chin up and kisses me. His lips are unbelievably soft.

"Good stuff happens too."

He smiles and strokes my cheek. "Yes." He kisses me again, slowly this time, letting it draw out.

I turn against him and loop my arms around his shoulders. I pull myself closer to him and kiss him again. "Really good stuff," I murmur.

He swings his legs up onto the couch and pulls me down to lie on top of him. "Fucking good," he says before he kisses me again. He hooks one leg over mine and slides his hands up under my shirt.

I push his shirt up and rub my hands against his stomach. He licks the edge of my lips, his tongue soft and wet against my skin. I shift against him so my cock rubs against his.

He gasps, then groans. "Oh *yeah*." He tugs at the bottom of my shirt. I squirm up enough for him to yank my shirt off.

"Yours too." I sit back on my heels and wait for him to get his shirt off before I lie back down on him. I stroke my hands over his shoulders and down his arms. I kiss his shoulder. "Better."

He chuckles lightly. "Hell yes. Fucking good." He kisses me again. And then again and again and again.

"Christ, man. Let me breathe," I laugh.

He grins unrepentantly and moves his mouth to my neck. I moan when he sucks at the place where my shoulder meets my neck.

"This isn't helping me breathe."

He laughs and drops his head back against the couch cushions. He runs his hands up and down my back and just watches me. "Better?"

I nod. "Yeah." I skim a finger over his cheek. "This is fucking good, but I gotta breathe." I grin at him. "You don't want to kill me."

He laughs. "Fuck no. You're too sexy to kill."

I lean down and kiss him, long and slow. "Thanks."

He strokes my cheek. "You are. Fucking sexy."

"You're pretty fucking sexy yourself."

He blushes. "I'm not."

I kiss him gently. "You are."

He shakes his head.

I kiss him more firmly. "You are." I slide one hand down to his groin. "You feel so good." Yeah, it's a cliché. So what? It's true.

He rolls his hips up into my hand. "You're making me feel good."

I slide my hand back up his body and rub down against him. He grips my ass. I can only move enough for a little friction with his hands holding me down.

"James." I wriggle against him. "More."

He takes my mouth again and sucks on my lips. "Pants?"

"Shoes first."

He groans. "Fuck." He rolls his hips up against mine. "Don't wanna move away from you."

I rub back down against him. "Don't wanna come in my pants."

He laughs and presses his forehead against my shoulder. "Okay. Shoes. Pants."

I kiss him while I toe my sneakers off, letting them drop to the floor. "My shoes are off."

He rubs one sock-clad foot up my leg. "Mine too." He kisses me, still sliding his foot along my leg in a maddening tease. "Pants."

His hands worm their way down between us and start working at my fly. He fumbles with the button, fumbles with the zipper. We're both panting by the time he gets them undone. He hooks his thumbs under the edge of my briefs and pushes them down with my pants. His long arms let him get them past my knees. I wriggle the rest of the way out of them and kick them off.

"Your turn." I reach down and work the fly of his jeans open. He arches his hips off of the couch while I push at the jeans. "Fuck," I mutter. My arms aren't long enough for this.

"Let me." He takes over and gets them halfway down his calves. "Good enough," he decides. His hands on my ass pull me down while he thrusts up.

"Fuck, that's good." I push his hair out of the way and kiss him. I devour his mouth as he keeps pushing our hips together. I love this, a warm body beneath me and the slow slide of cock against cock.

He breaks away from me. "Gotta let me breathe, man."

I laugh until I'm gasping for air. He rocks against me, and I gasp for a different reason. "Please." I can't quite keep the desperation out of my voice. I rock against him, trying to get him to move with me.

"Like this?" He moves against me, rubbing our bodies together.

"Yes." I kiss him again. His hands come up to tangle in my hair and hold me closer. It gives me more freedom of movement. I hate moving away from him, but thrusting back down is good enough to make it worth it.

When I yank my head away to gasp for air, he kisses and nips my neck. After a few thrusts, it's his turn to breathe and my turn to lick patterns on his throat. He reaches down between us and wraps one large hand around both our cocks.

"James," I moan.

He presses his lips to mine and starts to slide his hand up and down. "Fucking good," he murmurs.

"Really fucking good," I agree. I stroke my thumbs across his cheeks and push my hands up into his hair. Rubbing my fingers against the curve of his skull makes him stroke our cocks faster.

"Fucking sexy," he groans. He brings his other hand down and slides it over my hip to join the hand on our cocks.

I attack his mouth, kissing him fiercely, and thrust down into his grip. He bites down on my lip and bucks up against me. His seed splashes against my stomach. I thrust down into his semen-slicked grip as he rhythmically squeezes my cock.

"Come on," he urges me.

I grunt and move faster. What does he think I'm doing? He nips at my collarbone and dips his tongue into the hollow of my throat.

"You're so close," he murmurs. His lips brush against my throat.

I fucking know I'm close. I just need--

He rubs his callused thumb along the soft underside of my cock, and that's just what I need to come.

I slump against him, breathing heavily.

"You're fucking sexy when you come," he tells me. His still-sticky fingers tease my cock.

"Mmm." I'm not quite up to full speech just yet.

He reaches out and finds something to wipe his hands on, then he brushes my hair back. "I didn't kill you, did I?"

I chuckle weakly. "No."

He nuzzles my cheek. "I should've tried harder."

That makes me really laugh. "I'm not sure it's good for your band if you kill people," I say when I can sort of breathe again.

"Might get us a good reputation with groupies."

"Not with the public."

"Who cares about the public?" He smiles lazily at me. "No rules but Metallica rules."

"That your motto?"

He nods. "Yes. Good one, huh?"

I lean down and kiss him softly. "Damn good."

He kisses my cheek. "Glad you like it." He glances down at us and grimaces. "We're all sticky."

I laugh. "You're a neat freak?"

He shakes his head. "No." He smiles at me. "Just don't like being sticky for long."

I push myself up. We are rather sticky. "Got something we can use to clean up?"

He hands me a couple of napkins. "Best I've got."

"Good enough." They're scratchy, but they get the job done. I gather up my clothes, tossing his shirt over to him. I drag the jeans up over my hips. I glance up, and he's just watching my fingers pull the zipper up, work the button into the buttonhole. When he realizes I'm watching him, he gives me a soft, sheepish, little smile. I smile back at him.

He yanks his shirt over his head. "You want another beer?"

I shake my head. "Better not. I gotta get home in one piece."

He nods and rummages through the cooler anyway. He comes up with a bright red, dripping can. "Coke?"

"Yeah, sure." He hands it to me. Our fingers brush. I drink down half the can in one swallow, replenishing some of the moisture I've just sweated out.

He uncaps a beer and tips it back. His neck moves as he swallows. He catches me watching him and smiles. He sits back down on the couch. I shove my feet into my sneakers and sit next to him. He casually tosses his arm over my shoulders. We sip our drinks in companionable silence.

The door opens and lets in Cliff and Lars. Cliff tosses a bag our way. "We brought you some food."

James grins at him. "Thanks, man." He opens the bag and pulls out two burgers. He hands one to me and keeps the other for himself. He leaves the fries in the bag and sets it on his leg. I grab a few, and my hand brushes against his thigh through the bag. He grins at me before he bites into his burger.

Lars sucks on a straw. "Goddamn, these are fucking thick milkshakes."

"Why didn't you bring us some, dick?"

Lars grins at James. "Didn't have that much money on me."

James shakes his head. "Typical. Gets all the nice things for himself and doesn't think about anyone else."

"Fucker." Lars tosses a bottle cap.

James catches it and drops it onto the floor. "Dick," he mutters between bites.

"I brought you food, didn't I?"

Cliff snorts. "Only because I made you."

"I would've thought of it."

"Yeah. Tomorrow morning." Cliff lights up two cigarettes and shoves one into Lars' mouth. "I know you, man."

"Thanks for the food," I say while Lars tries to juggle the milkshake and cigarette.

"No problem, man. Gotta keep the fans any way we can," Cliff says.

I grin at him. "The music should do that. The food's just an extra."

Lars grins slyly. "Not the only extra."

Cliff cuffs him. "Dick." He gives me an apologetic smile. "I thought I gave him enough shit to keep his mouth occupied."

I shrug. "It's okay."

James finishes his burger and tosses the crumpled wrapper into the trash can. He grins at me and picks a fry out of the bag. I watch his lips slowly take it in, and my cock twitches. He grins at me and grabs another fry. I stop watching him and concentrate on my burger.

Lars says something to Cliff about his cigarette. I let their conversation wash over me. When I finish my burger, I blindly reach out for a fry. My fingers meet James' in a classic move. I look up to meet his eyes. The whole situation makes both of us laugh. Cliff and Lars look at us like we're crazy, but it doesn't stop us. We finally manage to stop laughing, and James holds the bag out to me. I take a handful of fries. We watch each other eat, letting Lars and Cliff talk in the background, until we've finished the whole bag. James crumples up the bag and tosses it neatly into the garbage can.

"Showoff," Lars mutters.

"Just because you can't shoot--"

"I can shoot."

"Can't."

"I can too."

"Christ, you two are such children."

"Oh, and you're so mature, Clifford."

Cliff nods serenely. "I am."

The door bangs open. Dave stumbles in. "You fucks still here?"

I swear the temperature in the room drops ten degrees.

"Yeah, we're still here," James answers coolly.

"Well what the fuck are you waiting for? Let's get the fuck out of here."

"We were waiting for you, dick," James says.

Dave sneers at me. "I'm sure that's what you were doing."

James stands up and steps between Dave and me. "Do you always have to be such a dick?"

"Do you always have to be such a slut?"

James' hands clench into fists. "I'm not a slut," he growls.

Lars steps between them, looking impossibly young gripping the milkshake. "Can you two give it a rest?"

"You're not my fucking father."

Cliff steps up next to Lars. "Let's not fucking do this now." He waves around the room. "Let's get our shit packed up and get out of here."

Dave scowls at him. "Fuck you," he mutters, but he puts his guitar into its case and snaps it shut. "I'll be in the van."

We all relax a little as the door closes behind him.

"Motherfucking dick," Lars mutters. He sucks viciously on the straw of his milkshake. "We gotta do something about him."

Cliff picks up two of the boxes holding pieces of Lars' drum set. "I'll talk to him." He nods to Lars. "Put down the sugar and help me out."

James stands up and carefully stacks a second box on top of the one Lars already has in his arms.

"I'll help," I offer.

Cliff waves James and me back towards the couch. "We can get it. You two relax." He follows Lars out the door.

James flops back onto the couch next to me. "Sorry," he mutters. "Dave's still a dick."

I rub his knee. "Not the kind of dick I'm interested in."

He laughs, then leans over and kisses me. "I've got the kind of dick you're interested in."

"Damn right." I kiss him back.

We break apart when the door opens.

Lars looks at us, sitting too close together on the sofa, and rolls his eyes. "Give it a rest already." He picks up another couple of boxes. "Or get a room."

James flips him off. "We've got a room. This one."

Cliff comes in as Lars goes out. He smiles at us and picks up boxes.

When he's gone, James tightens the arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer. He kisses me slowly, and it's not until Lars groans and says, "Get a fucking room already," that he lets go.

"You're just jealous."

Lars snorts. "Not hardly." He glances at me. "No offense, Kirk."

I smile at him. "Of course not."

Cliff comes back in and hands boxes to Lars. "One more trip."

Lars makes a face, but easily maneuvers the boxes out the door. Cliff takes out his bass and James' guitar case.

This time, when James goes to kiss me, I meet him halfway. He sucks on my tongue while I slide a hand up the inside of his thigh. He breaks away, gasping, and arches into my kneading hand.

"I know what I'll be thinking about when I jerk off tonight."

I chuckle and squeeze him a little tighter. "You and me both." I let go of him as the door opens once again.

Cliff scoops up the set list. "We miss anything?"

James stands and joins Cliff and Lars in looking around the room.

"I think that's it," Lars says.

"Let's get the fuck out of here then."

"You want a ride home?" James asks as I follow them out to their van.

I shake my head. "No, thanks."

He peers at me in the dim light outside the club. "You sure? It's no trouble."

"I live close. I like the walk."

He nods. "Okay." He ducks in and kisses me. "Come see us play again sometime."

I smile at him. "I'm sure I will." I step forward and put my arms around him, pulling his head down for a longer kiss that leaves us both gasping. "Thanks for a great time."

He smiles and brushes his lips against mine. "I can't wait to get home and jerk off."

I laugh as he slides away from me and into the van. He grins and waves at me from the window as they pull away. I shove my hands into my pockets and head for home.


End file.
